I am not sure why you get unreasonably jealous whenever I wax hornstalgic over Karen O. I have only mentioned her on the blog 3 times before : here, here, and here. And in none of these posts do I mention that she is an aesthetically pleasing mixture of half Asian and half Eastern European (Polish, no less.) Nor have I gone on about how she is a Rock goddess in the model of Chrissy Hynde.
You don't act like this when I mention Tina Fey and the many tawdry things I would like to do with her. Though I have a feeling that my new fascination with greyhound lover, Neko Case may stir your territorial instinct in light of the auburn tresses. At any rate, you typically have an acceptable tolerance for my ever-evolving List of 5.
I know I mentioned in a real life situation that I would drop you like a hot potato for a quick romp with Ms. O; however, I assure you that this is driven out of my respect for her as an artist and a piece of ass. There is no real emotional or romantic intention there. I would travel through hell to pluck a hair off of Satan's goatee and bring it back for you, but that could never garner the kind of street cred I would score having boinked the Queen of Avant Garage.
I don't expect you to move to Williamsburg, reinvent punk, and synthesize a unique fashion style. I will still find you incredibly attractive even when you are telling me in painstaking detail how some new country ballad reminds you of me while wearing that tragically anachronistic green raincoat. I mean, it's not like I am an indie darling director that she is going to get all gooey over either. Hell I am not even the 19th (at the time of this posting) most popular personal blogger. (Though I am arguably better looking than either of those guys.)
In summary: Just humor me, woman.
All of my love (and most of my lust,)
the Evil Genius